Waiting for You
by Christina Simon
Summary: Fiddler on the Roof. What if Tzeitel had been forced to marry Lazar Wolf?


A/N: This fic covers my idea of an alternate universe – what if Tzeitel were forced to marry Lazar? Please read, review, and enjoy – all comments are welcomed!  
  
"My Tzeitel knows I mean only her welfare. Am I right, Tzeitel?"  
  
It is all she can do to tear her eyes from the folds of her dress and nod, voice threatening to break. "Yes, Papa."  
  
"There, you see?" Tevye turns back to Perchik, who stood leaning against the doorway with his coat over his shoulder.  
  
"I see. I see very well." She hears Perchik leave, and she is alone in the barn with her father.  
  
This is not ordained, this is not how it should be, this is not, not, not happening... this is not Motel... this is that old butcher and it is not Motel... it is not Motel...  
  
A second later, she hears her father's slow departure from the barn. Probably to find Mama ... She has to go after him, she has to tell him, beg him not to let her marry him, not to leave her alone for the rest of her existence.  
  
But her small, huddled frame simply cannot find the courage to stand. This is all wrong... she sinks lower and lower into the depths, into herself, the weight of a thousand grains of invisible sand pouring over her shoulders, burying her further and further into the ground. She becomes blinded by the darkness and her freezing tears, a gasp, a sob escaping her throat until she can barely hold it in anymore... and then she breaks. Her racking sobs must be heard all over the village, the way she shrieks them so, as though she is near to death... indeed, she is dying...  
  
She waits and she waits, through her tears, waits for her love to come – but he does not, he does not – where could be possibly be? She supposes he has not heard the news yet... she hears only the soft footsteps of her little sister running in – sweet red-haired little Chava... feels her warm arm around her shoulders and being gathered into a hug, sobs suddenly subsiding as Chava murmurs to her.  
  
"Tzeitel... Tzeitel... you must talk to Papa, tell him this is not what you wish..."  
  
Tzeitel feels no need to tell her that it is too late, the decision is made and there is no way out for her.  
  
She feels Chava shudder and press her closer. "Oh, Tzeitel..."  
  
It's the late evening when she meets him in his shop to let him know. It takes nothing more than a glance up at her pretty, forlorn face to let him know that it's all over. He drops his needles and his fabric and all his silly things and rushes to her, holding her closer than he ever has allowed himself before.  
  
Her head rests on his shoulder, but it's not good enough for her. She starts kissing him on the cheek thousands of times, trying to lose herself in him so that she might not marry Lazar, and he begins to kiss her as well, trying to scratch out her pain and meld it into something else – she could almost go further – God help her, she could if she tried, she was ready for it – but an invisible force pulls her back, and it comes from him.  
  
"Tzeitel – Tzeitel, we can't. Don't do this, don't torture yourself."  
  
Her tear-dazzled eyes stare up at him, full a soul about to lose her hope completely. "Why should I not, when my home will be twice as terrible as it is? Why does it matter what I do to myself when it cannot be worse?"  
  
"It could be worse... I could lose you completely..." He grips her again, and she finds the tears flow easily. "It's not our time; if you just hold out, we can still make it in the world someday! I will wait for you. I promise."  
  
The room is silent except for her breathing.  
  
"I will wait. I will wait no matter how old and grey I get, I will always be waiting for you and never any other. Please, please don't give up hope now. Hold on."  
  
"I don't know how long..."  
  
"Just hold on for life and I will wait."  
  
The stillness is overpowering, a never-ending, enormous sound that resonates through the small little shop where a home could have been made, a family started, children raised, happiness forever...  
  
She leaves him with a long, lingering kiss that he will remember his whole life.  
  
She floats and smiles her way through the wedding ceremony, wondering who the beautiful girl in white is on the floor below, smiling serenely for all the smiling guests. No smiles on the faces of Perchik, or Chava or Hodel, or the two little ones. They'd come around, it was a wedding, you were expected to be happy, to share the joy of the girl on the floor.  
  
She takes a sip of the wine whenever no one looks – whenever she can and from whoever. The wine, it calms her, makes her forget and makes her smile and bear all the congratulations of the ladies. She begins to sway a little by the end of the night and she considers it to be sufficient for her upcoming task... She notices Perchik staring at her in his strange, perceptive little way, as though he would like to speak to her. She notices also the nod between Hodel and Perchik as Hodel rises and takes her aside.  
  
"You aren't well."  
  
"You and Perchik," she says with a bit of a slur, "you'll do well together, you know. Go far. See places. Make a happy time."  
  
"Tzeitel..." Hodel's voice is anxious. "Tzeitel, whatever you've done, I don't know if it's wine, but stop, please, don't make a scene, either... just sit down until the wedding is over."  
  
She laughs a little, doesn't want to cooperate but is eventually forced back down to her seat. She sees Papa gaze at her, a little worried, but she smiles and looks down.  
  
Lazar smiles at her bent head. She suddenly looks up and gives him a radiant smile that she knows he will love. A voice cries in her head, Tzeitel, wait, it's me! Don't forget the love... don't forget... don't destroy yourself... it echoes in her mind and makes her heart churn...  
  
Yet she carries on anyway, and by the end of the night when she and her new husband are alone, she is almost asleep and too weak to remember what will go on.  
  
She can barely even remember the pogrom...  
  
She awakens every morning to warmth and a wet kiss. She is used to it now.  
  
She goes about her morning chores, by mid-afternoon to her mid-afternoon chores, and starts dinner in the evening. The person growing inside her helps only a little. She knows she will take pride in whoever comes out to greet the world – she'll love it and cherish it... make it into a person of comfort to her droll existence.  
  
Sometimes she has to go to the tailor's, and these are the worst days of all. She remembers walking out of the shop in tears after Motel learned the news of her coming arrival.  
  
The day arrives, and she can hardly wait to see what her little boy looks like... thank the Lord he looks just like her...  
  
She's surprised she hasn't died, that she's found the strength to endure. Perhaps it's Motel's determined gaze instead of the hopelessness and desperation it had held in the days before her marriage. Perhaps it's her darling little one who helps her to pass the time with somebody innocent and needing. Perhaps it's because she imagines that Lazar looks a little older and more tired every day.  
  
It's not as though she wishes him to die, but ...  
  
And now he is becoming possessive. Jealous, almost. It is now that she cannot go to the shoemaker's, or the carpenter's, or ... now the tailors... she supposes gossip somehow gets around about the day she'd stayed in the tailor shop a little too long... they had just been talking, was all, small talk, growing into the banter they used to share... she had been enjoying herself until she remembered the child and made a hasty goodbye.  
  
Perchik goes away and Hodel follows him. This hurts her.  
  
Chava leaves the family behind to be with Fyedka the Russian, and Tzeitel is devastated once more.  
  
But worst of all – the edict.  
  
"Where will we go, Lazar?" she asks quietly.  
  
"Chicago," he replies, continuing his packing. "Family there. We'll have a place to stay."  
  
"We could go to Poland – Warsaw, I've heard, is quite safe."  
  
He laughs at this in wonder. "And when is it that my wife has been trying to earn an education?"  
  
Weakly she smiles. "I just have heard some of the men talking while I was out helping Mama. America is too dangerous, they say. Stay close by and perhaps there will be a rebellion, perhaps we can get our land back." She is grasping at air, making up lies out of nonsense – but he is not an educated scholar himself, he couldn't know these things.  
  
"For now, we go to Chicago. It can't be all that bad as they say."  
  
And she knows that's it. She doesn't argue, protest, complain – that's it.  
  
She writes letters to him, letters full and flowing with life, life that she doesn't exist to have outside in the world. She just hopes Lazar will not discover these letters – or she doesn't know what will happen.  
  
The child is turning out to be a wonder. She spends all her free time with him and loves him to death. The family is becoming more prosperous and rich, and the little boy becomes a young man, ready to go to college! College! He is smart! She is so proud.  
  
She's aged more gracefully than she would have expected – she still has strength, she's still the same Tzeitel she always was... she just misses her father and her sisters and her mother and her Motel, her sweet, sweet Motel... her whole life...  
  
Yet Lazar still clings to life. She cares for him. She genuinely has learned to care... but she feels no real love for him. She knows it could be years before he passes... he's nearly seventy, though, it can't be much longer...  
  
Her son is an engineer now, gone off to some place to make automobiles or some such ridiculous thing. She doesn't know the details. But ...  
  
Motel writes.  
  
He says he is coming.  
  
He says he's moving here...  
  
She can hardly contain herself – would not contain herself if Lazar, in fact, was not on his last tether... his deathbed...  
  
This night, Motel's face, his whole body flashes clearly through her head, telling her he's coming. "I'm coming, love, I'm coming." She sees him more vividly than ever –  
  
Word comes. The ship has sunk. Motel is dead.  
  
Dead. Dead. Dead. Utterly and truly gone.  
  
She cannot speak.  
  
The little energy she has she devotes to Lazar, who is also dying ... and it is four days later that he finally moves on.  
  
Most of the time she sleeps. Her body is weary, fading... and now...  
  
"I'm coming for you... please keep waiting... don't stop..."  
  
end. 


End file.
